Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
ALEXANDER
I can still taste him. The memory of his lips lingers like a slow, burning ache at the back of my throat. I press my tongue against my teeth, jaw tight as I push past the urge to go back upstairs and feel him again. Hear him moan my name again.
fuck.
I’ve been fighting this for weeks. Ever since that night in the alley, when he passed me with those wide, wary eyes, I’ve been drawn to him.
At first, I told myself it was curiosity—he had seen me at my worst, and yet, he hadn’t run.
But it became more than that. A slow, creeping obsession that’s only grown worse every time I see him. Every time I get too close.
And today… Today, I lost control.
Lucas always smells good, faintly masculine and sweet, like warm vanilla and something spicy.
But tonight, it was unbearable. Stronger.
Seductive. Maybe it was the heat of his skin, or the way his scent mixed with the water that dripped down his body.
It filled my lungs, seeped into my bloodstream, and made every nerve in my body tighten.
And then there was him. Soaked and shivering slightly, his golden curls plastered against his forehead.
His white shirt clung to his skin, nearly see-through, molding to the sharp dip of his collarbones and the curve of his waist. His lips were full from the way he had been biting them, and his eyes.
Fuck, his eyes, big, dazed, like he had no idea how goddamn tempting he looked.
I should have resisted. I should have kept my distance.
But the second I had him close, fingers gripping my shirt, breath hitching as I tilted his chin up, every ounce of restraint I had shattered.
I’ve kissed women and men before, had my fair share of meaningless hookups, but this?
This was different. Lucas didn’t just kiss back—he melted into it.
He let me take. Let me own him in that moment.
And I liked it, more than I should.
With a deep exhale, I take the huge sushi platter and head upstairs, but as I step into my room, he’s already asleep, curled up on one of the sofas, my clothes drowning his lean frame, the collar of the oversized shirt slipping just enough to expose his pale collarbone.
The hickey on his neck a deep red. His chest rises and falls in slow, steady breaths, damp curls slightly messy against the cushions.
I watch him for a moment, admiring just how beautiful he looks right now, then I step forward, slinging an arm beneath his legs and another around his back. He’s warm, his body slack as I lift him effortlessly. He stirs, a murmur escaping his lips, but he doesn’t wake.
I lower him onto the bed, adjusting the blanket over him before brushing a few damp curls from his forehead. I let my fingers linger in his hair longer than I should, watching the way his body shifts slightly into the touch.
For weeks, I’ve been careful. But he keeps breaking that control, unraveling it thread by thread. I want him. More than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I could have him if I wanted to.
But, something keeps holding me back. I feel that if I push too hard on him, he would go back to his shell and not want anything with me again. I still remember how he had reacted when I grabbed him at the exhibition.
Something about him—the way he flinches sometimes, the way he hesitates before touching, before letting himself be close, makes me hold back.
I need to be patient.
With a quiet exhale, I straighten, pulling. I take the sushi platter and head back downstairs, pulling out my phone to call the doorman.
“Mr. Alexander?”
“I over-ordered sushi. Do you want some?”
The man’s grateful response is immediate, and I don’t waste time handing it over before heading to the gym. I need to clear my head.
For the next two hours, I lose myself in the rhythm of my workouts. Lifting and then boxing. My fists collide with the bag in sharp, precise hits, but it’s not enough.
Lucas is still in my head. I want to possess him. Claim him.
But for the first time in my life, I’m hesitating.
***
The eggs sizzle softly in the pan, the scent of butter and toast thick in the air. I plate the food neatly, pouring coffee into two mugs.
I feel him before I see him.
The weight of his gaze prickles along my skin, dragging my attention upward. Lucas stands hesitantly at the entrance of the kitchen, barefoot. His blonde curls are a mess, sleep-heavy, and his lips are slightly parted as if he’s unsure whether to speak. But my eyes drop lower.
The mark I left on his neck is there, deep and visible, a perfect imprint of my teeth against his pale skin, and a pulse of satisfaction rolls through me.
He catches my stare and shifts uncomfortably, his fingers brushing over the bruised skin. His cheeks darken, the color creeping to his ears.
I smirk.
“You sleep for a long time,” I say, my voice low, smooth. “Good morning.”
His blush deepens, and I watch as he presses his lips together, flustered. “I-I was tired.”
I don’t respond, just raise an eyebrow before turning back to the food. A few beats of silence pass before he clears his throat.
“I, um… saw a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. It was sealed.” A pause. “I used it. Is that okay?”
I nod. “Have a seat. Breakfast is ready.”
He hesitates. He always does, as if he’s unsure of his place, unsure of me. But after a moment, he moves forward, settling onto one of the stools at the counter.
I slide a plate in front of him, full and balanced—eggs, bacon, toast, fruit. I place a cup of coffee beside it, watching his fingers brush against the warm ceramic.
“…Thanks,” he mumbles, eyes lowered as he starts to eat.
I stand arms crossed, my gaze locked onto him. Watching. Always watching. The way his shoulders stay slightly tense, the way his throat moves when he swallows. Halfway through his meal, he suddenly stops. Looks up at me. His eyes widen slightly.
“The sushi…”
“Gave it away,” I say with a shrug.
His lips part, his brows pulling together in an expression that almost looks guilty.
“Oh. Sorry…”
I shake my head, brushing it off.
“What kind of sushi roll do you like?”
Lucas hesitates. His fingers tighten around his fork, and he bites his lip before finally answering,
“I… I don’t know. I haven’t tried sushi before.”
My eyes narrow slightly.
“So yesterday was supposed to be your first time?”
He nods.
I don’t say anything, but something inside me twists. He had been excited. He probably wouldn’t admit it, but he wanted to try it.
He lowers his gaze again and continues eating.
I let him finish most of his meal before speaking again. “Your friend called your phone multiple times,” I say, “I had no choice but to pick up.”
His head snaps up, eyes wide. I reach into my pocket and pull out his phone, setting it on the counter in front of him.
“I told him you were fine. That you slept here.” I pause, watching his reaction. “He didn’t sound convinced. You should probably call him.”
“Oh.” His fingers hover over the phone, hesitant, before he finally picks it up.
I study him for another moment before straightening.
“I’ll drop you off at your place.”
He glances up at me again, his expression unreadable. Then he nods.
***
The drive is quiet, not just the usual silence that settles between us, but something heavier. It wraps around the car, thick and suffocating, pressing down on my chest like a weight I can’t shake off.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His throat is still slightly red from my grip last night. The mark I left on his neck stands out even more now in the daylight, a deep bruise against his pale skin. Something about it makes my pulse quicken.
I don’t say anything, though. I just focus on the road, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.
When I finally pull up in front of his apartment, I shift into park but don’t kill the engine.
He exhales softly, like he’s been holding his breath the entire ride.
Then he unbuckles his seatbelt, his movements slow and hesitant.
Then, after a brief pause, he glances at me, his lashes lowering slightly.
“…Thanks,” he mumbles softly.
The way he looks at me, the way his voice sounds—hesitant, unsure. His skin still bears the mark I left on him, that bruise on his neck a reminder of yesterday.
How he trembled and gasped, and the way his body wrapped around me so perfectly. A sharp, burning need claws through my chest. I want to kiss him again, I want to crush my mouth to his, and drown in him until he stops trying to run from whatever this is.
I want—
I grip the steering wheel. Tight. Control yourself.
I exhale, “About the kiss yesterday—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice cuts through the air like a blade.
I stare at him for a long moment, studying every inch of his face, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just sits there, shoulders tense, lips pressed together like he’s bracing for something.
“Are you sure?” I ask, watching him carefully.
There’s a beat of silence. Then he swallows, nodding.
I search his face, looking for something, anything, but all I see is hesitation, tension coiled tight in his shoulders. He won’t even glance in my direction. Frustration stirs deep in my chest, dark and suffocating. But I push it down.
Alright, then. I lean back slightly, fingers tapping against the gear shift, trying not to let it get to me
“I’ll be away on a work trip until Thursday,” I say, “So you can rest up for the rest of the week. I’ll see you at my place on Friday.”
Lucas blinks at me, caught off guard.
“Oh… okay.” He says after a while.
His answer is hesitant, and there’s something in his expression, something flickering in his eyes that I can’t quite place. For the first time, I wish I could read his mind. I wish I knew what the hell was going on in his head.
He grips the handle of the door but doesn’t move to open it right away. Hesitates, biting his lip, that damn lip—before finally exhaling and stepping out of the car.
I sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel like it’ll keep me grounded. Then, with a slow breath, I shift into drive and pull away.